


Don't Fear the Reaper

by wolfykeith



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Grim Reaper Keith, M/M, Witch Lance (Voltron), aka keith is kind of a cryptid, lance can see the dead, lance falls in love with death no big deal, look idk what this is but i'm into it so i wrote it enjoy, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-16 13:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18094796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfykeith/pseuds/wolfykeith
Summary: It's warm when Lance first sees his shadow. There is no warning, no foreboding feeling or turn of his stomach; there is only him and the open window and now the figure standing at the foot of his bed."Hello." He whispers.





	1. Chapter 1

 

It's warm when Lance first sees his shadow. There is no warning, no foreboding feeling or turn of his stomach; there is only him and the open window and now the figure standing at the foot of his bed. He blinks further awake and expects it to disappear soon, more than used to lone spirits stopping by before continuing on their journey.

But when he sits up the figure doesn't begin to talk or even disappear. It stays, watching.

So, Lance watches back. It's rare that he encounters something malicious but even though this encounter is strange, nothing feels very threatening about it either. Wide-eyed, breath stuttering against his chest, he looks up at the shadow but even if he could move, he doesn't think that he would run. Air flows in through the open window and distantly he can hear crickets and cicadas, the sticky southern summer sitting heavy on his skin. Licking his lips, he blinks again, curious.

"Hello." He whispers.

He thinks he hears a voice but it's too quiet, too muffled by some barrier he for once cannot see. Yet, he can hear the tone and the timbre, the way the voice sounds masculine and calm.

"Who are you?" He tries again, "I've never seen a spirit like you before."

Suddenly, light streams into his room. The door opens wide and his roommate stares inside, one brow raised in question.

"Who're you talkin' to?" He asks, looking around the room.

Lance shrugs, "I was on the phone with my sister."

His roommate knows it's a lie. His phone is charging beside him on the bedside table, screen face-down on the cherry wood. He smiles and provides no other explanations. He wouldn't believe Lance anyway. It's not like anyone ever does.

"I was comin' to see if you want some dinner. I can bring some back."

Lance just shakes his head, not hungry in the slightest. After his roommate leaves, he settles back into the bed, eyes falling on the now empty room. Growing up, there had always been the constant presence of people that have left the world of the living. They were beings that provoked visits to the local hospital for lengthy stays and long talks with his parents, where he first went into detail about what he saw. After a while he gave up and pretended he saw nothing at all. Lots of people in the south think people like him see demons, that they practice crafts of the devil. Which is, of course, a load of bullshit.

Lance doesn't know why he sees the things he does. He just knows they're always around and he's provides a little place for them to rest, learning to listen to their rambles and answer questions the best he can before sending them on their way.

For the rest of the night, Lance waits.

But the spirit does not return.

 

* * *

 

"I know you're there." Lance says into the dark, eyes shutting simply because he's too tired to keep them open.

Today had been rough. Work is never fun but on days like today, it is so much worse. Being yelled at by the general public and pulling a muscle in his lower back was only the beginning of it all and yet, after he'd locked himself away in the bathroom for a moment to breathe, he was sure he heard a whisper. A consoling murmur, one that made him release a deep, long breath.

Now, Lance refuses to let the boy disappear again. Turning on his stomach, he places his cheek on his folded arms and waits. In no time, the curtains flutter and the warm wind brushes along his skin, making goosebumps spread. He tries not to smirk, if only because he knows the figure heard him.

"Hello." He greets, not expecting much of an answer.

"Hello." The figure replies, his voice almost breathy, as if he's worried he'll be too loud.

Lance turns on his side and expects him to be at the window or maybe the end of his bed, perhaps even near the little desk in the corner of the room. Instead, he stares at the dark and finds it a solid black, a telltale sign that the boy is closer than ever. That he's right beside the bed, maybe even kneeling and meeting Lance's eye.

"Sleep." The figure says.

Lance shifts and winces, shaking his head. "I was waitin' for you."

The figure moves and Lance can only tell because the light filtering beneath the bedroom door becomes shrouded in shadows. Then he is back and Lance can feel those shadows flowing over his skin, making his eyes hooded. Lance reaches out, unsure of where he's touching.

"I wouldn't mind." Lance says, words slow with fatigue but full of initiative. "I wouldn't mind if you stayed with me tonight. You always wait to leave until after I've fallen asleep anyway."

For a few lengthy seconds, Lance is sure he'll go away again. That he'll disappear. It's the last thing Lance needs tonight; the returning sense of loneliness. But soon the shadow does leave and Lance deflates, wishing he wasn't right.

Only, eventually, he feels a new presence behind him. The bed dips and the blankets shift and he is shrouded in the dark now, his body enveloped. And suddenly the pain in his back fades. It slowly trickles away until he's sighing and settling further back, stretching his legs before pulling them up toward his chest. For some reason he didn't expect the figure to have a solid form. Though Lance can vaguely tell the shape of him when he stands, there had never been any indication that he was anything more than a collection of thick shadows.

Now he knows.

 

* * *

 

"I want to see your face." Lance says one night, sitting cross-legged on the bed. The headboard rests behind his back and in front of him, taking up the space on the end of the bed, is him.

 _Keith_.

It's a name they settled on together because apparently the boy didn't have one before. It was a sad revelation but Lance doesn't like to focus on that.

Between them is one cup of tea, the heat settling between Lance's palms. Keith doesn't say anything but Lance thinks that he seems nervous, that he's almost self-conscious.

"I don't even know _what_ you are." Lance pleads.

When Keith still doesn't move, Lance chooses to instead. He leans to set his cup on the table before beginning to crawl the short distance forward, until he's sure he's almost in Keith's lap. Still, Lance is just a bit shaky. This is new territory and he doesn't want to scare the boy away.

"Can I?" Lance asks, raising a hand.

It's tense and Lance almost backs off, knowing when to give someone their space. But before he can return to the other side of the bed, his hand is met with something solid, as if Keith had leaned forward to close the distance. Lance's hand is shrouded by the shadows but his fingertips touch the slope of a cheek, the texture similar to skin. And when he trails his touch up, he traces the outline of a nose and even eyelashes. He gulps and ventures down, feeling cold breath and lips, hissing when his finger pricks against something sharp. A tooth.

He jumps when a hand falls on his own face, the shadows brushing across his brows and nose. Lance smiles and leans forward, secretly hoping he does this right. His lips touch what he can only assume is Keith's cheek, laughing at the noise he makes in surprise.

"There." Lance says, "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

 

* * *

 

Lance tries to figure out what Keith could be. He's thought of ghosts and spirits and demons and wraiths, of cryptids found on weird websites and between the pages of old horror books. He even went down to the old shop in town, the one that most steer clear of because they claim witches sleep in the loft above. Lance is the only real witch he knows of on this side of Louisiana but he still managed to buy a book, one full of pictures and a huge, intimidating glossary.

Still, he's at a loss and he thinks it might be rude to ask Keith again, especially when they've finally established something... _more_.

At night, instead of coming to Lance right before he sleeps, Keith has begun to show up even when Lance is fresh out of the shower or eating his dinner. On any given night Lance can climb into bed and find Keith already there. And, always, he allows himself to sink into Keith, letting him hold Lance close. And when those hands begin to roam, well, Lance lets them.

The thoughts that cloud his head excite him. What would it feel like, he wonders, if Keith were to be inside of him? How would his body react if the shadows held him down or lifted him up, if they did more than brush his chest or the dip of his hips or his soft stomach?

Lance gulps and tries to focus on the book in front of him, fingers gently turning the pages. He stares at pictures of strange creatures, of monsters and myths, not really paying attention now that he's decided he may never know what Keith truly is. But it's entertaining to search, nonetheless. Music plays softly around him from small speakers on his phone and for the time being he is comfortable, glad that he's had the day off.

When Keith shows up, Lance doesn't jump or stare. He's used to his presence now and though it  makes his stomach flutter, it isn't a shock when Keith drapes himself behind him, pulling Lance back until he's settled against his chest.

He makes a questioning noise and Lance smiles, "I'm just curious." He says, flipping another page.

Suddenly, Keith goes tense behind him. The shadows shift and somehow, for the first time, Lance sees a part of him that isn't so vague. His finger is still wrapped in the shadows but its form is humanoid, tip clawed and sharp as he points to an image on the page. Though it's grainy, the quality ridiculously low, Lance raises his brows and leans closer, staring at the illustrated figure holding a scythe.

The figure is draped in dark cloth and shadows wrap around his feet, his face not really human but beautiful all the same. He's daunting and ancient and the stuff of legend.

 _"Death?"_ Lance asks, slightly disbelieving.

Keith hums, the sound reverberating through Lance's body. He draws away, as if this revelation would change anything. In a flash, Lance shuts the book and pushes it from his bed. He turns in his arms and those clawed fingers settle on Lance's back as he gets to his knees, straddling Keith's hips. He holds Keith's face between his hands, looking into the shadows, knowing that Keith is looking back.

"I'm not afraid." Lance says.

And as he leans down, feeling a brush of frigid breath on his lips, he knows it is the truth.

 


	2. to be continued

 

 

Thank you so much for all of the comments and support, i'm so happy y'all are into this so i'm definitely going to continue this story! This little note will be deleted with the next chapter, be on the lookout for it <3 see ya soon

**Author's Note:**

> This was really short but I had the idea and just really wanted to write it. I hope you liked it! I'm thinking of incorporating this idea into a bigger story. Let me know if you're interested please :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [wolfykeith](https://wolfykeith.tumblr.com)


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